Where on things of the sort you may spend a nice penny)-
* No ! But at the Adelphi some folks "I 've heard tell on"
Are often quite carried away by a Mellon.
Could you ever procure such pearls, diamonds, and top az :
I very much doubt if their equal the Pope has ;
Though there are (so I've read in a newspaper par.) a
Good many gems in the papal tiara !
But what sort of shoes had the sweet Cinderella-
Polished leather, white satin, French kid, or prunella?
No ! not one of those hid her dear little toes.
She wore--can't you guess ?--now what _do_ you suppose ?--
She wore--come, you know what she had _pour ses souliers?_--
She wore--as A. Ward would remark, 't was "pekoolier"--
She wore, to be brief, then, a pair of glass slippers,
And what vulgar rapture calls "regular clippers ! "
"And now," said her aunt, "your sisters may flaunt,
And fancy they 'll catch the young Prince--but they shan't !
There's one thing, however, I'm anxious to mention-
And I beg you will give to my words your attention :
If you stop at the ball till the hours that are small,
Your jewels and finery'll vanish--that's all!
So when twelve's drawing near be careful, my dear,
And to get away safely take five minutes clear.
Yes ; at five minutes to, pray take your adieu,
Or something may happen you 'll long have to rue !"
Cinderella, quite charmed with her gorgeous array,
Scarce had patience to hear what her aunt had to say,
But the moment she seemed to be making an end to it,
Kissed her, and promised she'd strictly attend to it !
Cinderella steps into her carriage and eight,
Tantara-tantara-ta !
With coachman, and footmen, and pages of state,
She is driven away to the Prince's grand gate.
Tantara-tantara-ta !
Oh, didn't they think she was somebody great !
Tantara-tantara-ta !
The Prince's Lord Chamberlain rushed to the door,
Tantara-tantara-ta !
And bowed very low that fair lady before,
While retainers and guards crowded round by the score,
Tantara-tantara-ta !
And even the solemn old porter said, "Lor ! "
Tantara-tantara-ta !
The Prince, when he heard all the hubbub and din,
Tantara-tantara-ta !
Came down the grand staircase, and held out his fin
To the fair Cinderella, and welcomed her in,
Tantara-tantara-ta !
And a very sweet smile was so blest as to win.
Tantara-tantara-ta !
He leads her to the ball-room. As they enter,
At once all eyes on Cinderella centre.
Each noble of the land, well-born or grand,
Desires the honour of her tiny hand.
The women all are on the hooks styled tenter
To learn who she can be,
Though "really they can't see"-
Like female jealousy there's no fermenter
For turning -tempers naturally placid
Into a bitterly corrosive acid-
"What all the men could find in her to praise-
They'd ne'er met one more plain in all their days.
Her clothes were fine,
And did with jewels shine,
But then, you know, they'd probably been lent her."
What need to enlarge ?--It appears woman's duty
To differ from us upon questions of beauty.
[Illustration: 107]
The men were enchanted. The ladies said, "Well, a
More brazen-faced thing-- !" meaning poor Cinderella.
(The dissension of belles,
As experience tells,
Is one of the oldest of _horrida bella._)
The Prince claimed her hand for the very next dance ;
Cinderella consented, but gave him a glance
That set his heart dancing with passion and pleasure
Much faster by far than his feet danced the measure.
"Now 's your chance,
Miss, to dance.
Hark ! they play the 'Mabel.'
Who'd be false
To such a waltz,
If to spin he's able?
"Faster they
Ought to play-
Can't they do it quicker ?
No, that ass
The double-bass,
He's far gone in liquor.
"O'er the floor
One round more
Will not tire, I trust, you."
"Only one-
And now it's done
I'll sit down." "Oh, must you:"
For dance after dance his delight to enhance
The Prince asks her hand ; no one else has a chance !
While young ladies and old, "left out in the cold,"
Shake their heads at such doings, and say that it's "bold !
But the Prince doesn't care for any one there
But his own darling partner, so gentle and fair
(Which is more than his conduct is--so they declare).
At last Cinderella looked up at the clock,
One minute to twelve ! What a terrible shock !
In two seconds more she is out at- the door,-
She has no time to wait, but runs to the gate-
It's well no one sees her, because she's too late :
The clock has struck twelve. The enchantment is o'er
The guards who were stationed each side of the portal,
When questioned, said they
Had seen none pass that way
Except--yes ! one scullery-maid, a poor mortal,
All rag, patch, and tatter, but didn't look at her.
The porter declared he knew nought of the matter ;
At the door as he sat he'd seen nothing thereat
But a pumpkin, a lizard, some mice, and a rat.
The Prince, who'd rushed out to look after his partner
And hand her downstairs
To her carriage, declares
He can't make it out--"It is quite a disheart'ner !"
However, next night he feels it's all right
When he sees her again at his palace alight.
Once more by his side through the hall she will glide--
And if he's a chance,
In the midst of the dance
He '11 ask her permission to make her his bride.
Cinderella, taught wisdom by yesterday's scrape,
Though enjoying the ball,
Watched the clock on the wall,
And in plenty of time from the room made escape.
But the Prince, looking out very sharply, no doubt,
Saw what his mysterious guest was about-
So sent for a follower trusty and tried,
And said he was yearning the name to be learning
Of the lady just gone to her carriage outside ;
And so he must ride
A little way on--say just down the next turning-
And follow the coach, let whatever betide !
The Prince then conducted the fair to her coach-
But in vain did his vassal await its approach
To ride in its track, so at last he came back.
At the news of his failure his master looked black,
And instead of a money-bag gave him the sack.
The next night came round--once more the Prince found
His love at the ball--and his heart gave a bound !
In the midst of the hop the question to pop
He determined--and nought his intention should stop.
How sweet are first love's tender words
As on the ear they fall !
More musical than song of birds-
More sweet than whey, more soft than curds,
So welcome to us all.
And, ah ! to Cinderella's ear,
Who'd heard so little love,
How were the Prince's accents dear,
Which her fond heart could plainly hear
All other sounds above !
Her aunt's directions to her niece
Young Cupid makes her shelve ;
When suddenly her joy must cease-
The clock upon the mantelpiece
Is on the stroke of twelve.
One ! run-
Two ! through-
Three ! the-
Four ! door.
Five ! look alive !--If you do not contrive
To be out of the place ere the clock strikes twice six,
I guess, Miss, you 'll be in a tall sort of a fix.
She is off and away without any delay,
Ere the Prince can get rid of his fear and. dismay :
Off down the stairs
Like a mad thing she tears-
When one of her slippers, small blame for that same,
Slipt off altogether, quite true to its name ;
So the Prince when he came
To the top of the staircase his love to pursue,
Found that _she_ was a slipper--but left him a shoe.
What was he to do ? He put two and two
Together at once, "calculating" like Babbage;
And as Taylor would say
In adapting a play,
Remarked, "If that's _choux_, I will make it _my_ cabbage;
The guards were all questioned, but nought could he glean ;
They had carefully watched, but had nobody seen
Except one poor beggar girl, ragged and mean.
£; Who," so one observed, "from her beautiful colour, he
Thought had been scrubbing the pans in the scullery."
The very next day, in the usual way,
His nobles he sent, with a herald, to say,
That the fortunate fair
Who could easily wear
The slipper which they on a cushion then carried
Would be by the Prince instantaneously married.
"Pooh !" say the ladies, as each trial made is,
"Only fit for Chang's lady, that shoe, we 're afraid, is.
You'd better convince that foolish young Prince,
If he waits till it's fitted--the fact not to mince-
He 'll finish at last by not marrying at all ;
The slipper is really too foolishly small !"
But in spite of their sneers, they were all half in tears,
And to get on the slipper bad given their ears ;
Indeed, there were those who cut off their toes
To try and contrive it--or so the tale goes.
Cinderella's two sisters were fiery as blisters,
And abused the young Prince and his learned min/sters,
Altogether, as Toole would observe, "just a-goin' it!"
Because, if you please,
When each tried to squeeze
The shoe on, she scarcely could get her big toe in it.
When they 'd done, Cinderella sat down in the chair :
Oh, didn't they stare with contemptuous air !
While each to the other said, "Well, I declare!"
But when the lords put
The shoe on her foot,
Without any ado it slipt into the shoe--
[Illustration: 113]
Said the Prince in a trice, "I 'll wed none, love, but you !"
What more ? The good fairy returned on the scene,
And, instead of the garb which was really not clean,
At a touch of her wand, in a dress of rare sheen
Presented her niece to the Prince who had been
So faithful and fond, and who made her his Queen.
[From the "Post" you will all the particulars glean
Of the marriage performed the two parties between
By a Bishop, assisted by Canon and Dean.]
Her sisters were very near dying of spleen,
And thought their aunt's conduct remarkably mean,
But lived as neglected old maids, spare and lean
(Though they'd never acknowledge to more than nineteen).
So there's no more to tell a-
-Bout sweet Cinderella,
Whose life was quite happy--in fact, "all serene ! "
HOP O' MY THUMB
UPON a forest thick and gloomy
A cottage, the reverse of roomy-
To put it plainly, just a hut
And nothing better--did abut.
'T was built of clay and roofed with straw ;
The walls had many a gap and flaw ;
The chimney wouldn't always draw;
The floor was damp, the ceiling leaky ;
With stains of rains the walls were streaky.
Around the hearth, where seldom smiled
A blazing fire, were faggots piled
As if for fuel-
Oh, mockery cruel !
For they were heaped from floor to raft-
-Ers as a check upon the draught.
The fires that used that draught to flicker to
Consisted only of a stick or two,
Enough to warm a mess of pottage.
Pshaw ! why waste time
In spinning rhyme,
When one can easily contrive
To picture it with words just five ?-
The usual "English labourer's cottage."
There dwelt a goodwife, and her goodman,
Who by profession was a woodman,
But was so poor and so prolific
(A family of seven's terrific
To one whose trade is not _first_ chop),
That oft when trees he'd limb and lop
He wished--his lot did him appal so-
That he could cut his own stick also.
But while he in the woods was hewing,
What, think you, the poor wife was doing,
Who had to sit at home, and see
Her children gather round her knee
With looks that, plain as words could utter,
Said, "Please, we want some bread and butter" r
What could she do but sit and sigh,.
While bitter tears bedewed her eye ?-
His was the "hew," but hers the "cry."
Her household duties were but few :
When she had clothed the infant crew,
The toils that as a rule belong
To cooking, did not take her long ;
They never tasted meat, to vary an
Eternal diet vegetarian.
And well we know, to rear a troop
On turnip broth and carrot soup,
And ne'er taste "pieces of resistance,"
Is vegetation, not existence !
Said the husband one night
As they sat by the light
Of a fire that for them was uncommonly bright, *
"My dear, we have got
One carrot--and not
A single scrap more to put into the pot.
* How it flickered and flared has been drawn con amore
By that notable artist of artists, G. Dore.
We 're as poor as church mice, and there's nothing much surer
Than that we every day shall grow poorer and poorer.
And what for our brats
Can we do, my love ? That's
The question that gnaws at my heart 'like green rats ! '
It's long since we had any victuals to carve,
But now we 've no soup
To spoon out for the group-
What _is_ to be done ? for we can't see them starve."
The wife shook her head,
And mournfully said,
"If we have not the food, why, they cannot be fed ;
Unless we find heart to entrust them all seven .
To the Power that feeds
And attends to the needs
Of the wild things of earth and the winged things of heaven."
Said the father, "That's true !
It's what we must do-
We 'll take to the forest the poor little crew
By roundabout ways, all the more to confuse them ;
And then, when we find they 're not looking, we 'll lose them."
Here the reader polite 'll
Allow the recital
To pause while they 're settling a question so vital ;
And I, in requital,
To make it all right, 'll
Explain how my story has come by its title.
The last child that was born
To this couple forlorn
Was tiny in figure ;
Not very much bigger
Than the wee dancing dolls that one sees in an organ ;
Or rather, so small
That no figure at all
He'd, I think, have been called by Professor de Morgan,
But--devoted to fractions most infinitesimal-
That diminutive point which is known as a decimal.
So, though he was a boy,
And we do not employ-
Says the grammar that Eton lads always enjoy-
For the masculine _omne quod exit in um_,
They christened the little one Hop o' my Thumb.
The father regarded the child with surprise ;
And his mother, poor woman, shed tears for his size,
For she felt as she looked at her babe the misgiving
That so little a boy could but make a small living.
And as he grew older
Still every beholder
That he didn't grow bigger at all always told her ;
But then as some comfort they all of them found him
Possessed of great _nous_,
Though the size of a mouse-
For though he was little, they couldn't get round him.
Now it chanced on the night that begins my narration,
When his parents were holding this grave consultation,
Sleep would not come
To Hop o' my Thumb-
He was on the alert "a remarkable some ; "
So he sat up in bed,
And there by the red
And flickering light that around it was shed,
By the glare of the log
Saw the cat and the dog-
She was poor as a rat ;--he'd a waist like a frog,
Or a greyhound--but due to the absence of prog,
Not the presence of breed,-
He resembled, indeed,
He saw on her cheek a iear-drop glisten,
So he hid himself under her chair to listen
The nags that you see in a cab-driver's stud,
Whose "points" are all owing to bone, not to blood.
There his father and mother
Too sat by each other,
Conversing in tones they seemed anxious to smother,
And he saw on her cheek a tear-drop glisten,
So he hid himself under her chair to listen.
[Illustration: 120]
What did he hear ?-
He regarded with fear
Being left in the forest so dismal and drear !
And all for no good,
For 'twas likely he should
Get wholly mislaid, like the Babes in the Wood,
Whom (see story) with leaves the kind robin, alack ! buries,
When they eat, by mistake, deadly nightshade for blackberries !
In a state of despair,
Hidden under the chair,
Poor Hop o' my Thumb heard his parents declare
That the first thing next day they would make the excursion
Which, so they determined, should end in desertion.
"What's to be done ?
This is really no fun :
I m the wretchedest mortal that's under the sun.
To bed I must creep-
But awake I will keep,
For what I've to do is to think, not to-sleep,"
Said Hop o' my Thumb,
When his father said, "Mum !"-
To his mother, intending that she should be dumb
On the subject that late
Had formed their debate-
"I think you had better get breakfast at eight."
The boy stole to bed,
To turn o'er in his head
The things which his father and mother had said,
And discover, if possible, 'cute little chap !
As well as he can,
Some snug little plan
To guard him and brothers against a mishap.
One thing was clear :
When they started from here
He some landmarks must leave by which homeward to steer ;
For if he'd the means to discover the track again,
Go where they would, he could find his way back again !
But in vain to devise
Some guide-post he tries,
Till he's quite wearied out, and sleep closes his eyes.
But while he still sleeps,
On a moonbeam down sweeps
A fairy : beneath his closed eyelids she peeps,
And finding him busy on all sorts of schemes,
To aid his escape
From the morrow's sad scrape,
She a cunning suggestion slips into his dreams.
Where lofty oaks deep shadows make,
And ceaselessly the aspens quake,
Where ancient elms their branches spread,
And ashes whisper overhead ;
Within the forest's darkest glades
There flows a stream among the shades,
Above its wave a hoary group
Of melancholy willows droop.
The kingfisher its waters loves ;
'T is haunted by the startled doves ;
And, free of fear, beside its brink
The dappled fawn oft stops to drink.
'T is fed by twenty tinkling rills,
And here and there--where sunlight spills
Through openings in the boughs o'erhead
A halo, yellow, azure, red-
A tiny rainbow bright and small
Hangs o'er the mimic waterfall ;
Where through the overarching green
Bright glimpses of the sky are seen,
The dancing waters as they go
Mirror the snatch of blue below.
Long mosses wave within its stream,
And silvery fishes glance and gleam,
And water-lilies float and sail.
But these do not concern my tale.
My point, the mystery to unravel,
Is, that the bed of it is gravel,
And that its bays and banks abound
In pebbles small, and smooth, and round.
By the side of this stream,
As he walked in his dream,
It appeared that the pebbles all set up a scream,
"Hop o' my Thumb!
Come hither, boy, come ;
If _we_ cannot show you the way it is rum !" *
At the first streak of day
He is up and away ! ,
He creeps out of the house through a crack in the
* At the slang the stones speak don't, I pray, be offended :
How their schooling's neglected
Must be recollected -
Just remember how often roads have to be mended !
Off like a rocket
To fill every pocket
With stones--precious stones, though not fit for a locket
Brooch, bracelet, or ring,
Or any such thing-
But precious to him for the help they will bring.
Away must he go
Like arrow from bow,
Yet all in a quiver,
And reaches the river.
The scene is a taking one, though this is a giver
Of peaceful delight,
Full of charm for the sight
That reads all the beauty of Nature aright.
On the bank of the stream
Rests one fleeting gleam,
Where the bluebells and dainty anemones teem,
And there rises o'er them
The grey hollow stem
Of an old pollard willow ; while many a gem
From the waters is hung
Leaf and blossom among,
For 't is here that the stream's sweetest madrigal's sung.
But what does he care for song, bluebell, or pollard ?--
There are the jockeys that have to be collared.
[Illustration: 125]
Down on his knees he. went, if you please,
And oblivious of sunshine, and blossoms, and trees,
Where the waterfall piped in the shrillest of trebles
Hop o' my Thumb filled his pocket with pebbles.
Then homeward he stole,
Returned through the hole,
And crept into bed, not disturbing a soul ;
But feeling the danger completely forestalled.
Curled up, and slept soundly until he was called !
At eight o' clock the mother rose,
And donning mournfully her clothes,
Lit up some sticks and put the kettle on,
As she and he did last night settle on :--
The water boiling, in goes, souse !
The one last carrot in the house.
The hapless mother can't but feel
In any case it's their last meal ;
For even if they now gave up
The plan on which they had agreed,
There's nothing left,--nor bite nor sup,--
Her hungry, starving babes to feed.
Less pain 't will be, she feels, poor mother,
To lose them one way than another.
And so this poor Hagar
Prepared her _soupe maigre_,
While grief and perplexity harass and plague her.
And soon as their eyes
Are open, with cries
Of "Oh, we 're so hungry !" the little ones rise.
While the father, who's not
Very great at a plot,
Conceives that his plan some more treachery lacks ;
So in order to hatch it, goes out with his axe,
And makes an attempt at restoring his mind's tone
By setting the edge of the blade to the grindstone.
The poor little souls
Sit down to their bowls,
And eat up their pottage without any rolls.
It's not a remarkably nourishing diet,
But it eases the pangs
Qf hunger's sharp fangs,
And the wolf in the stomach keeps partially quiet.
But the mother's afraid
It's far from well made,
For the carrot's fine flavour and strength haven't stopt in it,
And it's rather too salt--from the tears that have dropt in it.
However, no matter !
They clear out each platter :
. In expecting a share of the soup, dog and cat err ;
If they want a first course they must e'en lick the dish for it,
And as for the second, they 'll have to go fish for it-
A third they 'll not meet with, however they wish for it.
So the table was cleared ;
The cloth disappeared :
And then came what Hop o' my Thumb had so feared.
Said the father, "Come, children, I'm off to the wood,
And I 'll take you all with me providing you 're good.
There are lots of wild fruits,
Not to mention the roots,
And the hawthorns are putting forth midsummer shoots.
You 'll have plenty to eat-
'T will be really a treat ;-
So run to your mother, and all be made neat ! "
Off they ran in great glee
To their mother, and she
Did the best that she could for the boys ; but, you see,
A respectable look's not the easiest of matters
To give to clothes made of shreds, patches, and tatters.
However, at last, inspected and passed,
They set out for the forest so gloomy and vast.
The father goes first with his axe on his shoulder,
The next place was the mother's,
And then all the others ;
First he of the brothers
Who is than the rest of the family older,
And so from the tallest
Right down to the smallest,
On a scale that would greatly amuse a beholder.
And, pray, who last of all should come
But the mite of the family, Hop o' my Thumb r
Trudging along,
Humming a song,
As if he were quite unsuspecting of wrong,
But keeping an eye
Very much on the sly
On the various objects the road took them by,
And here and there along the track
Dropping a pebble to guide him back.
[Illustration: 129]
On they went still, mounting a hill
In the sort of locality papers call "ill"-
That retired kind of spot
You would look on as not
An unsuitable place for the scene of a murther-
Up the steep gloomy slope
They stumble and grope ;
They'd come to a fir wood, but still they went further.
At last the old woodcutter cried out a halt,
Set the children to play,
And then stole away
With his wife when he fancied they'd all be at fault.
And so they were rather
When, weary of playing
And running and straying,
They hunted in vain for their mother and father.
Oh, where could they be ?
In bush, thicket, and tree
They searched, but their parents they nowhere could see.
And some of them cried,
"Oh, where do you hide ? "
As young Lovell remarked to his beautiful bride,
Who got in "the _wrong_ box," while the key was outside,
And suffered such pains in the chest that she died.
They ran to and fro,
And searched high and low,
And exerted themselves till near ready to drop,
Whereupon little Hop
my Thumb, who till then held his tongue, called out "Stop
This was done to deceive us :
They meant thus leave us ;
But I, if you 'll just let me manage the job, 'll
Soon help you all out of this queer-looking hobble."
That night the sad sire
Sat down by the fire,
And the mother sat near him in agony dire,
And, though they'd not dined,
Felt far from inclined
To eat of the loaf they'd the good luck to find
Where some gay picnic party had left it behind,
Just as they-
Well-a-day !
(As the madrigals say)-
Had left their poor children behind in dismay.
"Rat-tat-tat !"
"What is that ? "
Said the sire as he sat
On the desolate hearth 'twixt the dog and the cat.
"A knock at the door."
And without any more
Ado, it was opened--and, lo ! on the floor
Stood those desolate ones,
His seven little sons,
With Hop o' my Thumb walking coolly before !
There was nought to be said :
They put them to bed ;-
You can't solve a riddle by scratching your head,
Or that father distrest
Would have certainly guessed
All the "Family Herald's" most puzzling and best.
But he said to his wife, "Though it's much to our sorrow,
We 'll lose the young rascals once more, dear, to-morrow.
But for fear that again of our scheme nought should come,
Just keep a sharp eye on that Hop o' my Thumb."
The very next day
He led them away, .
In a different part of the forest to stray-
Where the foliage was thicker, and darker, and denser,
And--if I'm permitted the term--much immenser !
Any chance, to provide
From the rivulet's side -
Any pebbles, to Hop o' my Thumb was denied ;
But the youngster was one
Not easily done-
Said he, "I 'll contrive it, as sure as a gun ! "
So into his pocket, unnoticed, the crust
He had given him for breakfast he quietly thrust,